


galaxy dip

by blue_roses



Series: for him (i'd wait, i'd wander) [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Long Shot, M/M, Romance, Second Person, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 08:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8280122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_roses/pseuds/blue_roses
Summary: Seeing the nebulas as his limbs, constellations scattered as veins, the way the night dips into him, the way you know he’s always been one with the stars. Before, you thought he was in his own world, but now you know he was drifting. Now you can see, now you can see the galaxy dip in his iris and the way he says, "trust me" with his actions and you always will. He’s still a map now, even on his worst days, and you want something from him, something to tell you how you managed to get so lucky. You can feel your breath hitch, and you press your cross tighter into your chest. Tighter, until it nearly hurts, before the bullet comes and, "oh shit you’re in love with Keith".Or: Lance learns a lot over ten years.





	

**Author's Note:**

> OK this is another toronto verse thing ig? it's all lance 2nd person and yea!!! enjoy!!! there r mentions of other deaths and grieving, but nothing super big. either way, stay safe!! <3

  One day, you’re eleven and a half years old and asked about dreams. Your legs are kicking back and forth, even though you’ve been told, several times, to stay still. You can’t stay still, if people understood that, it would be easier. But you’re better at understanding others than they are at understanding you. Your parents are taking a wedding anniversary trip, siblings all around the house or holed up in town, where things are quiet. You’ve never minded the noise, it reminds you that this place is alive. That it hums when you listen closely, sings when there’s enough sound to drown it out. You like the bustle. 

  You’re looking at homework. Something about how your dreams came from where you are now. All you know is that you’ve been restless, you see planes, kites, boats, and want to go with them. Not for lack of being happy, or content, but desire for  _ more _ . You have a feeling if you voice this, as if you voiced a lot of things, it would put a burden on your family. You’re selfish in other ways though, so you write about traveling. About Varadero and the way the waves pull back and say  _ you have places to go, you have things you have yet to know.  _ You write. 

 Then, you underestimate. How much your family knows and can find out. When you’re asked what’s wrong, you say you like dresses but not the way you’re supposed to. They work on it. When you’re asked what you want for your birthday, you’re trying to hide the catalogues. Your nosy, nosy, Liza manages to get your catalogues from your hiding spot and plan a surprise party. Liza is eight years old. You’ve never been more proud and frustrated in your life. You hold a camera in your hands and try to get pictures that mirror the moment she looked at you with loving plotting on her mind. You get several. More than several, and even then, you switch up subjects. You don’t realize how  _ home  _ was only grounded when you took photos until you’re twenty, but now you’re twelve and all you know is your camera has become your world. 

 Sometimes, throughout the years you’ve almost stopped counting in the outside world, you sit at Varadero beach and take photographs. Of daylight, of night skies, and you wonder if you could take some up in the sky. Where the nebulas meet, where galaxies dip into systems into cycles and into home. A part of you knows you have to go when your parents are hunched over paperwork. You know you do when they mention the Garrison school, the one you always wanted to be a part of. When they made you take a test for school, when they showed you a letter, when they--

_ Well _ , you think,  _ always wanted to go to America.  _ You’re fourteen and a half years old. You still see them hunched over, looking up flights, calling up family you’ve only gotten birthday phonecalls from. You keep taking photographs, and learn to keep your feet slightly above the ground. You only realize who’s staying, who’s leaving with you, at the end of it all. You might get the reputation of being a crybaby, but you don’t mind being called sentimental. 

  Who comes: your parents, your younger siblings, your aunt Lucia. Who doesn’t: your older brother, the rest of your extended family. You miss them before you leave, you know you’re going to be in a family that’s different now, you know you’re going to meet someone whose house you’re going to stay out who you don’t know. Your aunt tells you something that your parents should have. 

  “It’s my mama,” she says, “your little penpal said she couldn’t have renters anymore because her lovely, lovely Lance was going to be in America.” 

  Okay. You’re sobbing the entire plane ride, and you start up again when a 4’9 woman with braided white hair gives you the broadest smile you have ever seen. Throughout your life, you’ll always go back and know she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen.

  You know English, but you take extra classes over the summer at a tutoring center. It’s for the accent. You know it’s for the accent because it’s all people remind you of. You try to keep it when you’re at home, and it’s easier than you expected. You’re not sure how to feel about it. But the tutoring covers several subjects, and it’s where you meet your best friend. 

 Hunk is smart. Hunk isn’t aware of how smart he actually is, and you’re the one that picks up on why he’s doing so badly on tests the moment you’re leaving the bathroom and see him sweating over an exam. You might have glanced over, might have noticed him before solving the same math problem with ease. 

 After he’s done, you take another bathroom break just to say something to him, because you do want to help. You’ve learned that when you can do good in this world, do it. You see him, in the bathroom, washing his face. And he’s crying, something you might actually be able to help with. 

 “Hey,” you say, “uh, buddy. You know you’re like, super smart right?”

He turns towards you, sniffling, “What...even a stranger’s trying to tell me I’m not stupid? Did she send you oh my god what if she sent you and you’re like paid to l--”

 “Buddy!” you say, because you’ve run out of words, “You’re gonna be great!” You put your hands on his shoulders without thinking, and you have no idea if you’re doing any of this right. It’s always easier in theory than in practice. 

 “Uh,” he says, “how are you gonna say that if you don’t know my name. It’s Hunk, by the way, in case you were wondering.”

 “Cool,” there’s probably another word you could have said but it’s too late now, “I’m Lance. And I wasn’t paid off.” 

 “It’s just paid,” Hunk says, “but it’s nice to meet you Lance.”

 “Pleasure to meet you too,” you say, and you hear a bit of a chuckle and you think things are going to be okay. 

  You learn that Hunk leaves fifteen minutes before you do when he waits until you’re out of tutoring. Then you walk together, you text your family to say you’re with friends until eventually you don’t have to text them at all. Hunk is bad with swings, but you teach him how to build momentum. In return, Hunk brings his older sisters so the two of you can play double dutch on the summer sidewalks. You’re two fourteen year old boys, Hunk’s sisters are a doctor and a college freshman, you have a good time.

 So, you learned what  _ serendipity  _ means two hours before you discover Hunk is going to the Garrison magnet school, for engineering. He doesn’t know what kind of engineer he wants to be yet, but he likes putting things together and taking them apart, so he thinks it counts for something. To you, it definitely does. When you see what he does, what he creates, you take pictures until your fingers are sore just to capture the art he’s created. 

  You’re thrilled when you end up in the same room, less thrilled when someone’s sitting in between you. You might have created a code, but some things should remain sacred. You consider asking the kid to switch, but even though you shouldn’t be hesitant to speak, you are. 

 

This kid looks around twelve with large round glasses and messy short hair, and you’re a few months shy of fifteen, it’ll be okay. Still, it takes you a moment or two, and then your homeroom teacher leaves to get papers before you’re all introduced and you look at the kid and breathe in and ask. 

  “Hey,” you say, “I’m Lance, what’s your name?” 

  “Pidge,” the kid says, “or Katie. And for the record, I’m  _ not  _ a child.” She narrows her eyes, and part of you does want to laugh. It’s something Liza would say, and she’s ten. 

  “Okay Pidge,” Hunk says, “now that we’re introducing ourselves, I’m Hunk.” 

   “Alright,” Pidge says, “but...don’t expect me to get all into this friend stuff. I’m here to get out early.” 

   She proceeds to turn away for a moment before your teacher comes in, explaining things, handing out your schedules. You have English and history with Hunk, and you look over to see you share P.E. and biology classes with Pidge. You’re going to friend her so hard, because apparently, you need more friends. As if Hunk isn’t amazing enough. 

  Though you understand the sentiment, understand why your abuela is so insistent. You know where everyone chose to come back to Cuba, she stayed. You know she grieves for her friends, and goes to more funerals than you can count. Eventually, you chose to be her companion, you can’t count how many you’ve been to. So you’ll do it, you’ll make friends, and Pidge will be your first second friend in the United States. 

  “So,” you ask, while you’re running laps for P.E., “how old are you anyways?” 

  “Old enough,” silence, “but I’m twelve.”

  “Wow,” you say, “then you must be like, super smart.”

  Pidge looks up at you, and you realize how young she really is, “...thanks.” You keep the same pace as her, even when she falls behind. There’s no need to rush it. 

  “Hey,” you say in biology, “did you know--”

  “Yes I know the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell, don’t meme on me,” she’s smiling, she doesn’t think you notice. But you’re more observant than you show, so even if she misunderstood, if she’s smiling, it’s all good. You still feel the need to correct her, so you do. 

  “I was going to ask if you knew that your brain couldn’t feel pain,” you say, “but I don’t really know American, uh, memes? Could you teach me?”

  “What?” her mouth slightly agape, “Did you like, just move here or something?”

  “Yeah,” you say, “this summer. I’m from Cuba, you didn’t know? I thought the whole accent and food thing was pretty obvious.” 

  “Oh,” she shakes her head, “I didn’t notice. I’m like twelve, I don’t notice anything.” You don’t think she means for it to feel validating, from the way she looks down. You think it’s a step forward, even though your heart hurts. It’s validating. 

  “Well,” you say, “at least you’re acting your age.” She smacks him, lightly, but they’re both laughing so loud at the end they get kicked out of class until they calm down. 

  “You just ruined my academic record,” she says. 

  “But it was fun, right?” you ask. 

  “Yeah,” she says, “it kinda was.”

  “Oh, what do you  _ mean  _ kinda?” and the day goes on from there. You ask if she wants to eat lunch with you and Hunk, and you meet him across from the basketball courts and tell them to make nice. It’s awkward, but nice. Awkward nice.

  Then comes your math class, and you’ve been known for being good at math. And this is right before your elective, you managed to nab beginning photography during early scheduling. You’ve never been so grateful in your life, so you’re gonna make sure this math class passes by quickly. 

  It’s probably the slowest, worst class you’ve been in in your  _ life _ . And you’ve been to bible study (in an uncle’s care a few summers ago, it was not fun). The teacher is a tall woman whose voice somehow manages to be fast and slow at the same time. You’re worried about not catching up, but you see native English speakers sharing your looks. Well, at least you’re in hell together. 

  Turns out you are  _ not  _ in hell together. Not when everyone seems to know what the teacher assigned in her messy handwriting and fast-slow voice except you. You almost ask for help, but you can’t bring yourself to. No way you want to seem like a failure. So you try and forget about it when you go to photography. 

  Which is simpler, much simpler. You’re surrounded by upperclassmen, but you don’t mind. You might flirt a little, because you know that’s somehow less awkward than actually talking. You have a feeling they all see through it, but they treat you like more of a kid than you’d like. Your teacher tells you things he hasn’t seen pulled off easily, so you decide to do that every single time. Even when he says you screwed up, he tells you what to change and you roll with it. You eat more lunches with Pidge and Hunk. English becomes fun the moment you ace your first quiz, so you want to do better. 

 And you do, you get better running times and force Pidge to get better with you. Until she says she can’t, so you decide to stay a lap ahead of her. You and Hunk spend so much time after school, it only makes sense for you both to bring her along. She’s spoiled to death in both your houses, definitely living the high life.

 One day, two weeks into your friendship, the day before your first math test, she says she can’t hang out with you and Hunk at lunch. Then, you see her looking up bus times in front of the school, tears in your eyes you won’t mention. 

  “Where do you need to go?” you ask. 

  “You know, my sister’s picking us up today. She can drop you off, Su loves you.” 

  “Really?” she looks up, wide eyed and hopeful. If either of you were planning on saying no earlier, that would have gone out the window. Pidge tells you she needs to go to the pharmacy, her parents are busy and her brother won’t pick up the phone. Hunk’s sister Su, a college student who Lance might have tried to flirt with if she wasn’t Hunk’s sister, has a habit of doting on Pidge that doesn’t go unchanged. 

  Then, you see what she gets. And you blurt it out, three minutes in the car right, because you need to know. You really, really do. 

  “You too?” you point down at the package, and Pidge’s head jolts up. 

  “You’re…?” her eyes are wide, fingers slightly trembling. 

  “Yeah,” you say, “knew since I was ten. You?”

  “Since before I could remember,” Pidge says. And that’s enough. Su is driving, and Hunk is in the front seat looking at you both. He knows about you, but she has to tell the others herself. That’s never going to be in his hands. 

  It works like that, until the day you get your test back. A C minus, bordering on D, truly. You can’t show this. No way you can show this. But at the same time, you don’t have a choice. You just don’t want to be seen as a failure. 

 Your abuela sees it five minutes when you get home, when she’s talking about how she really shouldn’t have to pick up her papers, as a poor frail lady. You feel yourself flinch, because everything’s supposed to be fine with you. You just turned in your weekly portfolio for photography, you’re acing everything else, you know everything else. And you know math, it’s just, the way she explained it. You don’t realize you’re saying these things out loud until your abuela wraps you in a hug. 

  “Kick her ass Lance,” she says, “you got this, you’re not my grandson for nothing.” 

 You laugh, short and choked up, “I’m pretty sure that’s not what you’re supposed to say.” But she holds you tight until you unwind into a smaller version of yourself she never met. 

  “Now,” she says, as she backs to wipe her glasses, “do you need me to help you?”

  “Yeah,” you say, “I’d really like that.” She’s a doctor, has been for at least forty years, so when you both sit at your kitchen table, before your parents get home, before your siblings get back from tutoring and extracurriculars. You’re sitting down at the table, and she goes over every quiz problem and note with you. 

  The next day, you ask for a makeup exam and get one. You ace it. Then you go over everything with her on Wednesdays, and hang out with Hunk and Pidge on Tuesdays and Thursdays. On Monday, you’re studying with Hunk and/or Pidge, and you try and be serious about it. Fridays are your days, the days you take care of yourself, rest with your family, but mostly you’re alone. And that’s good for you too. 

  Liza wakes you up, early, on Sunday mornings. She says it’s for church, but you just help her get ready. Somehow she needs to be the best dressed, even though you insist she’s also the prettiest, so she’s gotta save something for the other girls. You know you’re supposed to say that for your girlfriend, and you’ve had one for a few weeks. Her name’s Maya, she’s on the swim team and she’s five feet with the nicest smile you’ve seen.Still, the prettiest girl title has to go to any one of your little sisters. But you do go to church, after a Saturday of homework and touching base with family, you’re the best escort a little sister can ask for. 

  You wind yourself down like that, it’s more of a series of motions than living most of the time, but you make it work. You have friends and family and connections and a goal. To graduate, see the world in front of you and capture the parts that draw you. So you do, and you work, and you take photographs on your phone and your camera. Your teacher, one day, when you’re almost leaving for summer break, two days before you take your driver’s test, tells you he’s registered you into advanced photography. Again, you’re the crybaby, but you know you’re getting somewhere. 

  It’s spring when you get the news. Your abuela sits you down on the desk you two studied in and takes your hand. Hers is strangely chilling, you don’t pull back. She looks you straight in the eye when she says, “I have cancer.” She wouldn’t have it any other way, and you can only hold back your tears. It’s stage four ovarian cancer, your world is falling apart, the only thing you can do is stay with her. 

  He’s the one that makes you forget how shitty your life feels, through pure need to be  _ better _ . You get into honors English, even though you don’t care about old white men from England, it’s the only one you could get into. But you’ll study, make vocabulary lists of older English, because Hunk and Pidge decided to take other Englishes, Then he comes along, and for theatrics sake, you’ll just say he ruined your fucking life. Keith Kogane ruined your English ranking  _ and  _ your life, and doesn’t even know your name. 

 “Oh,” you say, “I’ll  _ make  _ him know my name, he can scream it!”

 “Lance,” Hunk says, “I don’t think you realized how that sounded.”

 “I don’t get it?” Pidge looks up at Hunk, as if he has secrets in his eyes. You both know Hunk cannot keep a secret, nor does he have respect for privacy. He’s read through both of your diaries.

  You pause, and then try to give Hunk the dirtiest look possible, “No, no, no you don’t. Get that  _ away  _ from me--” you cover Pidge’s ears-- “and our child! You know what Hunk? I’m getting a divorce!”   

  “But you said you’d never leave me?” Hunk throws his head back, “Lance, was that all a lie?” 

  “Well it will be if I don’t get ahead and beat Keith out in English,” you can feel your fists clench, “my rival’s going  _ down  _ next quiz!”

  Your rival does not go down next quiz. In fact, he gets seven points higher than you.  _ Lost Horizon  _ might not be your cup of tea or whatever, but you’ll learn it backwards if it takes that to kick Keith’s ass. Besides, your hospital visits are limited now. You need to have  _ something  _ to do before abuela gets better.

 You beat him out on the es say, see his little scowl when you show it off to him. Oh, this will be fun, as long as you stay on top. Plus, he’s a junior, so it feels extra satisfying when you get better scores. Even when you and Maya have a mutual breakup, you’re still smug as hell when you win against Keith. So it goes like that, and then Pidge is thirteen, and too much happens at once. 

  “They’re gone…” she says, “MIA probably means they’re dead doesn’t it.”

  “It doesn’t have to,” you say, because you don’t know what else to say. Hunk is the one that wraps you both up and invites Pidge and Linda to dinner, because there’s always going to be hope. He’ll always be praying, and so will you, and so will everyone who’s met Pidge Katie Gunderson Holt.

  You’re not allowed the luxury of hope, not anymore. Not when three months in the semester, you’re sitting beside your abuela as she dies. As she dies, and she tells you so much and she gives you her life in her rosary and her notes and her everything. It’s still not enough, nothing will ever be enough. You don’t cry though, you let auntie Lucia and Liza and your father, fresh from work, sob. You let your little Alicia and Rose bury themselves in your chest and for all things holy you do not cry. 

  You stop coming home for dinner. The coach tells you not to bring your stuff, don’t swim until you find time to grieve. As if you don’t grieve every second. You try and find corners of the school you’ll be able to cry in, so maybe you can let everyone around you grieve for once. Maybe then you can stop being so selfish. You find yourself in the reference book section of the library, crying your eyes off, which really, maybe some other sap could be there. But most people aren’t dense enough to go up to a crying person. 

 Except Keith, apparently. Because he just starts walking towards you. Because that’s just how Keith seems to function, in his own world without a care for anything else. 

  “What do  _ you  _ want Keith?” it felt weak on your throat, you couldn’t look up at him. 

  “Are you...okay?” he asks, as if it wasn’t obvious. And he keeps walking towards you, what’s up with that? It’s not like anything he’d do would possibly help you. Not even Pidge and Hunk could. 

 “What do  _ you  _ think?” you ask, hopefully it’s got enough bite in it for him to back off. 

 “Uh,” Keith says, “I think you’re crying?” and it’s so fucking  _ funny  _ you feel yourself laugh. It’s dry and wrong, you don’t like laughing this way, but you’ll do a lot of things if you just didn’t have to talk to him. But still, that doesn’t scare him away. He sits next to you, on the floor next to your seat. There’s a breath of silence where maybe, you think, just maybe he’ll leave. He doesn’t leave.

 “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, and you have a feeling he’s trying to sound like a therapist. But his voice has inflections in the wrong places and it’s low and quiet in a way you don’t want to be comforting. So you stay quiet

 “Did you really just ask that?” you almost want to make a gesture with your arms, but they end up limply on your sides. What is  _ with  _ this guy?

  “Yeah? I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to?” he says, and you bet he doesn’t know how wide eyed and confused he looks. Again, as if he’s in his own little world. 

  “Whew,” you shake your head,  “I forgot how you worked. In your own Keith world, where you assume everyone is just like you. But I can’t be like you. So don’t think I ca--”

  “I only go here because I can’t be in an empty house,” he says, and your world stops. 

  “What?” you ask.

  “Thought it would set the mood…” he looks away, finally realizes all the implications of what he’s said. But you won’t stop looking at him now, or maybe you can’t. Either way you make sure to keep eye contact while you shake your head.  

   “For what? A therapy session?” you laugh, and for some reason Keith smiles a little bit and you feel your shoulders go slack. Does he understand too? 

  “But,” you say, “I don’t want to go back to a house without her.”

  “Without who?” he asks, and you don’t know if he actually cares. Either way, you have to hear him first, to make sure. 

   “You go first, you need to...set the mood right?” you smile a bit, because the way Keith worded the entire thing was so awkward, that even in grieving, you’ll still make fun of it. 

   “My brother’s at war,” Keith says, eyes downcast, “my parents work late, he used to be there when I came home. I don’t know what to do with myself.” Shit. This reminds you too much of Pidge, and it hurts you to see someone else like this. You might not like Keith that much, being your rival and all, but you do wish him well with all your heart. 

  “Me too I guess,” you say, “my ab-- _ grandmother  _ died. Ovarian cancer, first time I saw my mama cry, and it was there. Right when she got the phone call.” Holy shit you need to shut up but you can’t, you feel the tears welling up again, and you wipe them with your sleeve before Keith can notice. He’s already seen this much of you so fast, you don’t know what to do about it. 

  “I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s the most sincere expression he could probably say to you. For the first time in a while since you’ve heard those words and death paired together, you can feel he’s being genuine. You’re not sure what to do about that, so you try and brush it off. 

  “No need to be,” you say, “I just. Can’t be there right now. I’m a crybaby, you know? Everyone said,  _ Lance!  _ Can you tell us why you’re crying? And I just, can’t impose.” You won’t shut the fuck up. You’re talking and you look up at the ceiling as if you’ll see her as if you’ll see Varadero and you won’t stop talking. He stands up, because apparently, that’s what it takes for him to leave. If you knew, you’d do this whole thing sooner.  

  “Go to my place,” he says. 

  “What? I think it’s a bit too fast--” you try and joke about it. Because this has to be a joke, no way he can be saying this seriously. But you look up at him, and he’s as serious as ever. 

  “We don’t want to be alone, or with anyone who’ll comfort you. I’m a shit comforter, I have food, and video games. Want to come over?” you don’t know what to say. Or how to feel, exactly, he’s taking pity on you or he isn’t. He’s in his own world but he’s reaching out because of what? You could almost smile at the thought. Instead, you take a chance. 

   “Okay,” you say, “why the hell not? Don’t have anything better to do.” Which is sort of true, you could tell Pidge and Hunk you’re actually upset and they’d comfort you. You could talk to your family, in Cuba and here, but you don’t. You don’t, because this classmate-rival is offering you his home and you want to know what made him do it. For some reason. 

 What you learn: Keith named his motorcycle  _ Sally Red  _ because he can’t name for shit, he also doesn’t have helmets and drives way too fast and says you scream even though you definitely don’t. He also expects you to just  _ take  _ food out of the fridge, which is weird, but he has cheap soy milk that is actually really good, and baby carrots which make a good snack. Keith also doesn’t have a carpet, which makes no sense because carpets are what prevent injuries and death. 

  You learn that he doesn’t like your taste in helmets when you bring old ones to wear from home and the next day he brings his. That he likes this show called Lost Tapes on Animal Planet which is probably one of the most ridiculous things you’ve watched, everyone knows ghosts are the only supernatural thing real on this earth. But you don’t say anything, something about it makes Keith extremely excited about the whole thing. You don’t want to take that away from him, you’re sure you’ll learn where that came from eventually. Eventually, you go back to practice for half the time and make up for it on weekends. Even then, you take some time to pass by Keith’s place, for a reason you can’t comprehend.

  You learn to stay in the park when Keith’s parents come over, because you can’t go home. You take photographs, he hasn’t asked you about your case and you’re glad because all you’re going to think about is home. You don’t know which home you’re thinking about, but you’re thinking about it all the same. You learn that time passes quickly with Keith, as a part of your day. You keep your rivalry, keep working, but you know you’ll be at his place and forget about the world around you. 

  “Listen,” you say, “can we watch something other than, I dunno, cryptid stuff? Like something with a  _ plot _ ?” 

  Keith narrows his eyes, does a little nose scrunch pout you don’t think he’s aware of, “Lost Tapes is good television.”

  “Sure it is,” you say (even though you’ve actually kind of enjoyed it), “but how about watching something like a drama? Those are good.”

  “Well,” Keith pauses, he has a near silent hum when he’s thinking, “I can see what my brother watches. He likes dramas.”

   “Okay then,” you say. Keith eventually finds a show called Pushing Daisies, which is morbid enough for him and cute enough for you. It quickly becomes the only thing you two can agree on watching. When you go to McDonald’s instead of eating dinner at home, you get a pie as well. 

  Do you leave early so you can see your family?” Keith asks, “It’s good to be home for dinner.” You think you’re fucked, but there’s no way you can admit it. You have to think, have to go back to better times before you were a crybaby you have to--

  “Yeah! It’s good for dinner. I miss mama’s cooking, even when I have it every day,” you say. Liar. You’re such a fucking liar and you wouldn’t be surprised if someone as dense and weirdly trusting as Keith wouldn’t see through you. You wish you could sink into the floor and never come out. 

  “Okay,” he says, “make sure you eat a lot.” You will. Leftovers late at night or McDonalds, either one comes at a low price. But then, you haven’t been eating as much, don’t have the appetite. 

 “That’s a weird question to ask,” your laugh sounds hollow, “but I will.” You try to smile, but the stretch hurts so damn much you can’t wait until he looks away. You can’t wait until you go away. 

  So you go to the park to take pictures but you’ve done everything you can. You walk around town instead, taking more, and more, and more. You don’t realize where you’re going until you make contact with Linda Holt near a Walgreens. You may or may not make a run for it. 

  “What the  _ fuck  _ is wrong with you Lance?” Pidge asks, right when you’re in physics. Hunk’s eyes are narrowed, as if he’s reading you. Which means he is, right now. 

   “I don’t know what you mean,” you say, “I was just taking pictures for an assignment. Advanced photography’s no joke.” 

   “Then why did my mom see you?” Pidge asks, “And why did you make a run for it?” 

   “It was an awkward situation,” you say, and neither of them believe you. 

   “Okay,” Hunk says, “but don’t avoid your family.”

   “Don’t know what you mean man,” you say, “don’t know what you mean.” Class starts, and it’s all radio silence from there. So you go to Keith’s, same as usual. You watch Pushing Daisies with him, and he seems tense, and you don’t ask about it. Instead you lean against him, slightly, to say you’re there. Then you leave, then you see Pidge and Hunk in the park near Keith’s house and know exactly what’s happening.  

  “You can’t keep doing this,” Hunk says, “your parents don’t know what to do. Your siblings want you back at dinner. This is bullshit, you know it is.” Your fists are balled up, you know what he did, you know what they’re doing. But you’re tired, can’t anyone see how tired you are? 

   Pidge looks at you with eyes that make you remember she’s a child. She’s young, and now she has to deal with your shit. Now Hunk does, and Pidge does. What about Keith? What could he have seen you as other than unstable, why did you think he was doing this out of anything except pity? 

  Pidge is saying something, you can’t hear her, you can’t hear anyone. But you say: yes, yes, I will, sorry. You say them, sometimes varying the order, no one notices that’s all you say, but that can be because no one cares. It can be because Linda Holt noticed you at Walgreens, it can be a lot of things. 

  The next day, you greet your family. Liza wakes you up, and Rose and Alicia soon follow. You call your brother Percy and say you’re hurting and he says  _ I’m sorry Lance, I wish I could be there.  _ He’s not going to be there, you think. You’re going to be okay with that, you think. Aunt Lucia is cooking, and you eat breakfast at the table. Your parents hold you tight and you say, goodbye, goodbye and don’t go to school. 

  Instead, you hop on the bus and take yourself to the nearest body of water. It’s still a beach, but it’s way too cold to wade your feet in. You take photographs of the way the fog dips into the sand, how the ocean is longing for something more, and it feels poetic to see sand in sidewalk cracks. It’s not home, but you can say it’s photography, poetry on a good day. Then, you see the sunset breaking through the fog, just as the high tide comes, just as everything comes together, and you take the shot. Somehow, the red makes you think of the name Sally, but you don’t think about it, or waves, or how the water almost looked black. When you get home for dinner you’re greeted by your family and strain your conversation so you can go up and show them to your teacher.  _ Hey,  _ you say,  _ I think I did something beautiful.  _

  You can’t talk to Keith, so you don’t. Don’t acknowledge him, because you don’t need his pity. Or his soy milk, or his baby carrots or him. You go to your teacher, who tells you this has to be submitted to a contest. You’re not sure what to say, you keep on nodding, you can’t stop nodding. You don’t go to the library, and convince yourself it’s because you’re submitting a portfolio even though you don’t even read the contest rewards. You don’t care, as long as it pulls you away. 

  Liza asks if you’re angry at her, and you respond: I’m just a little busy, just not happy with myself. You’ve been ignoring calls for two days, but you turn to look at her. You need to talk, don’t you? You need to do something. You get a call at eight PM and answer it. 

  “Did...did we screw up?” Pidge asks, as Hunk yells a  _ Lance! You’re back!  _

  “No,” you say, “I fucked up. And I’m gonna make it right. And I’m sorry.”

  “Dude,” Hunk says, “apology accepted. But you have a lot more people to apologize to. Start with your house, then your English class.”

   “But don’t pull it again,” Pidge says. You can hear Hunk’s hum in agreement, and you don’t know what you’ve done to deserve these friends. So you’ll be better for them, you’ll be so much better to them. And then, there’s someone else. 

  You start with Liza. She looks you straight in the eye in her yellow dress and you say, “Let’s play Ring around the Rosie” which means you spinning her relentlessly. She hates it, except this time she practically leaps in your arms. Alicia, already studying right when she gets home, tries to defend her honor, and Rose just wants to join. Your baby sisters are all using their weight to keep you laughing, then crying on the floor. You don’t know when you started crying.

   “These are happy tears, right?” Liza asks as she rolls off of you. Rose grabs tissues from her pocket, you didn’t even knew she had pockets until now, and Alicia gives you a hug. 

    “Yeah,” you’re only lying a little, “they’re happy tears.” To see their smiling faces, you don’t regret the choice. Aunt Lucia sees you first, and she’s shaking her head and chasing the girls off. Your parents are the ones that wrap you in a hug, and your mama is the one who tells you to cry and you sob and sob and sob. 

   It takes a while. You still can’t talk to Keith, and you’re working on submissions for a contest you’ll only see the results of in the summer. Apparently, it’s a tournament of sorts, and you want to win, you want to tell Keith you’re better. But with him, it’s better to show than tell. You have a feeling it always will be. 

  “Hey Hunk,” you say during physics, “can you come with me Keith’s after school?” Your hands are shaking. The idea of seeing Keith’s got you weirdly clammed up, and you’re probably scared, but you’re not a good driver in this situation. 

   “If I can come,” Pidge says, “yes he can.”

   “Can you like, not talk about me like I’m not there?” Hunk pokes Pidge’s forehead, “And yeah, it’s about time you got your shit together with him. But only if I drive, you’re a mess Lance.”

   “Thanks buddy,” you say, and you mean it, “meet me at my house around four. I’ll get practice off.”

    “Truant,” Pidge says, as if she hasn’t skipped class fourteen times already because she thought she found aliens. 

     You come home and ask if you can bring a friend over. One that isn’t Hunk, or Pidge, or either of their families. You’re not sure about Keith’s parents, so you don’t mention them, but you’re hoping this works. You think, if Keith sees your family, he’ll understand. Maybe that’s more wishful thinking than you’d like, but you want to hope. Or believe. Or bet on it. Hunk honks the horn, and you’re running out the door with clammy palms all the way there. 

 “Come to my place,” you say. You don’t even remember how you got to the door. Or that you rang the doorbell until Keith answered. He’s in his normal school wear, weird leggings and a bomber jacket. He looks tired, maybe a little surprised. You’d get why he’s mad at you, but you really don’t want him to be. 

  “That’s a change,” he says. Shit. You look down at your feet, waiting for him to slam the door in your face. It doesn’t happen. Instead, you hear Keith clear his throat. 

  “Not in a...bad way. I just didn’t know you went home, or wanted me there or, yeah,” Keith says, and you don’t want to smile yet. It’s not like he’s said yes, but it’s close. It’s close, and you remember how awkward Keith is and you feel it getting closer. 

 “Well,” you say, “I know the intervention happened. I was pissy, but I got my head out of my ass and want you to have dinner with us. Hunk and Pidge are coming too, hell, you can invite your family if you want. We love guests and it would be really ne--”

 “Yes,” Keith says, “I’ll go. My parents...probably don’t want to be with strangers. But I’ll go.”

 “Cool,” way more than cool actually, “that’s cool. Because Hunk’s driving and we’re waiting in the car.”

 “Isn’t he fifteen?” Keith asks. Then you remember how much and little he knows about you, and that Keith could use more friends. Maybe you can share friends, that actually does sound nice. 

  “Got one early to help his family, same as me,” you say, “but he insisted on taking the wheel because I was too fidgety because of you. So in the end, it’s still your fault.” You’re smiling a little, and you see Keith’s smiling too.

  “Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he laughs, it’s small and you feel your world open up again. He locks the door behind him, and he’s walking a little fast, so you make it a race. You have the benefit of knowing the location, but he’s got a head start but you’re running and running. You’ll insist you win, even though you’re looking at him a bit too much to really notice. 

   “Lance,” Pidge says, “get in the car. You’re getting in the back with Keith.” As if she doesn’t sweat the most out of the three of them, the hypocrite.

   “Sorry man, but you two can sweat it out in the back,” Hunk says. Okay, he’s the second worst, why is he-- _ oh _ . That coy smile. Pidge might be a little shit, but Hunk is a scheming little shit with no respect for privacy. You glare at them to make sure they know they’re traitors, but neither of them have a care in the world. 

   Hunk starts driving, and you see the way Keith tunes into the car and looks at the surroundings, still smiling. You don’t talk, don’t need to explain what’s going on because you know now. You reached out and he took it, and not you’re quiet together until the car’s parked. Traitor 1 and Traitor 2  get out of the car, and you turn to ask if Keith is ready. He gives you a small nod, and you take his hand before either of you think about it. 

  You’re the one to knock on the door, to introduce Keith to your family. Your sisters love him, especially Rose, who somehow got the whole  _ motorcycle boy  _ vibe from him and talks about her scooter. You take him to your family photographs, from here and Cuba. He says  _ beautiful _ so quietly he thinks you don’t hear. Then he goes to eat, and he eats so damn much, mostly because your entire family’s bent on spoiling him. 

  Keith’s laughing thirty minutes in, and you don’t think he realizes it completely, how happy he looks. You think he looks like he belongs here, you want him to belong here. And you know what, you’ll make it work. You will. 

  Then, you get a camera and equipment from Keith, Hunk, and Pidge for your birthday. You might cry a little, especially when you hear they all worked to get the money. Especially when Keith says,  _ Well when you showed me your album I knew…. _ They’ve all been there when your world fell apart, that’s when Keith entered your life. 

  It’s only fair you do the same thing when his brother comes back, a different man. He’s in your room, with a nearly empty house. Everyone’s on their way to church, and when Keith comes worn down and hurt, they say they’ll go to church without you. He’s in your room, and he doesn’t cry or scream or break anything. He’s quiet, and you let him rest himself against your chest. 

  “You know,” you say, “I did cry when you got me that camera. So do you need to cry now, it might help.”

   Your chest is a little more wet, slightly, and you decide to show him what you’re working on. You bring him some Girl Scout cookies from Rose, and you pulled up your laptop and made sure he ate a little bit. He’s leaning against your shoulder when you pull up the page on your browser. 

   “Lance…” he says, “ _ Lance holy shit. _ ” He jerks up, grasping your shoulders. 

   “Well,” you say, “it’s just the prelims. But I’ve been working other contests, and I even have this summer internship! Like, I can see some artists too to learn more. But yeah I was gonna tell everyone when I got back from--” 

  “I’m really happy for you Lance,” and he wraps you in his arms as if he wasn’t just upset. You can smell his house, a little bit of sweat you’re strangely okay with, and the shampoo you gave him.

  “Thanks Keith,” you say, “I’m gonna be taking stuff for the next round. I can get two more photographs for that to replace some old ones, wanna be my assistant?”

  “Sure,” Keith says, “if you give me a box of those cookies.”

  “Deal,” you say. You leave in ten minutes, you take the van, because there’s no way you’re letting him carry your stuff on his bike. You’ll stop whenever either of you see a nice place, and it’s not all that productive but you do it again. And again, until Hunk’s panicked texting because  _ Pidge just got in touch with Keith’s brother and  it’s Keith’s birthday.  _ You then say you want to go to the bakery, so you pick up a cake and Pidge and Hunk get parts and you drive him over the the park near his place and you all have a little birthday party. 

  Two months into summer vacation, Keith asks you to meet him at the park near his house. He’s crying, small tears, and you don’t know what to say. You know his brother’s been going downhill, and you sit next to him on the bench. 

  “He’s going to be put away,” he says, “I don’t know what to do.” 

  “Do you want to start with breathing,” you say. You put your hand on your chest, put his hand on his. You’re breathing, almost in sync, you think. You text his parents on his phone and say he’ll be sleeping over, and when he’s there, you try and get him to use your bed. In the end you both sleep on the the floor, and you try and convince him everything is going to be okay. He ends up not going to school, instead he works odd jobs for a few months. You, Pidge, and Hunk stage an intervention that involves getting a GED six months after the news. You’d consider it returning the favor. 

   “I’m going to Tokyo,” he says, “it’s where I’m from.”

   “Okay,” you say, “come back safe, yeah? I got this whole abroad thing, second time I’ve been on a plane in my life. So you’re my inspiration, stay safe.”

   “Of course,” he says, “I’m always safe.”

  His parents die. On the way back from Tokyo, they’re casualties on the Pacific Ocean and all you can do is hold Keith’s body and his hair back and his everything. It’s all you can do, because he was there for you, you’re here for him. But you have to go, he’s the first one to say it. You hug him so tightly and say you’ll be back and hope he can believe you.

  You’re not in Cuba, but Spain’s okay. There are a few nasty bits, and you still speak Spanish every though it’s not theirs. It’s yours, it’s yours and you use Spain to bring you back to your first home. You also use Spain to find a temporary boyfriend, but he’s also your temporary tour guide. With a name like Gerald, you do expect him to know a lot of older spots. So you take photographs and learn in an old building and know when you get back you’ll be better, when you get back you’ll be able to say something or do something that will show the world. You want the world to know your name, and Keith to say he’s okay. In whatever order comes first. 

  Then you come back, see Keith on the couch in an empty house. You don’t ask questions, all you say is, “I have a cross around my neck, I’m watched over. You don’t need to worry about me.” He’s still worrying, you’re not sure he’ll stop but you don’t want him to be like you. You don’t want him to have the pit of anxiety, to be with a home and homesick. All you can do is tell him you’re okay, that you will be okay. 

   “Let’s have our own place, where we can see the stars and stay on the ground,” you say, because you don’t know when you started not minding the idea of his presence, or when he stayed over longer at your house than his. But you’re sincere in your words, and he rests, breathes a little slower. He doesn’t say a word, but you’ll wait. You know he’d do the same for you.

 You only realize he already has the day after your graduation. You knew he’s been working odd jobs, Hunk’s seen him at a few, and he helps dog sit Pidge’s dog Rover. You figured he was doing some bike stuff, and he understood when you were busy with graduation stuff. When Percy sent a picture of plane tickets, when Pidge gave you her tickets for two family members that weren’t there. You got tickets, you had gotten into college set for an early graduation, and you got your cap and gown. 

  He was in the seats, and when you took pictures, everyone made sure Keith was included. He told you, “Listen, Lance, I need to take you somewhere.” And as you did, when he took you places, you’d agree in a near heartbeat. You trust him, you will for the rest of your life, you think. 

 He takes you on Sally, and you’re gripping his waist and he’s laughing. He takes you up the stairs of a complex, which makes sense, that he sold the house. You don’t know all the details, but you remember going through forms upon forms. 

 Then he takes the keys and unlocks the door to a new apartment. The sun’s setting, and you tell him, “Whoa, you got a pretty cool place.”

  “No,” he says, smile so, so broad, “ _ we’ve  _ got a cool place.” And you wrap your arms around him, and crybaby Lance comes back for a moment. Just a moment before you can speak.

   “Keith,” you say, “I don’t know what I’d do without you buddy.” Because he busted into your life, because he’s with you now and you don’t know what your life would be without him. 

  “Aren’t you a happy one,” he says, as if he’d expect anything different. When you face each other, his eyes remind you of where nebulas meet, as if the galaxies itself are behind the setting sun. And life will go on, and so it does.

   Summer’s a haze, as summers tend to be. Your family, Pidge, and Hunk give you a housewarming party neither you or Keith need. But you take it, and you take the free snacks. You don’t expect Percy, or your cousins, but they’re here for you. Keith doesn’t mind when you speak in Spanish for most of the night, and when he calls his brother in the corner, you don’t mention it. He’s laughing at the end, and so are you, and so is everyone in the end of it all. 

  Hunk gets into the accelerated engineering program, because he’s been taking classes at city college and has the grades for it. Pidge almost says she’s taking her time, except she bursts out laughing partway through. No, Pidge wants to graduate in two, three years. There’s no way Hunk won’t catch up with her. Or you. Ride together, graduate together. The three of you will make it work. 

  Then you’re in college, complaining about general education. You say no fictional place will compare to Shangri-la, and he laughs at that. Then you’re both eighteen, and you come back from class to Keith trying to smoke a cigarette, and you’re the one laughing. You creep up behind him while he’s coughing, and he gives you a pout, of course. 

  “You know,” you say, “when I get work, like, when I’m super famous, I’ll get you packs from around the world, just to be safe!”

   “You don’t need to do that…” he says, looking away, but you see the smile on his face. It’s more than a little infectious. You think, if there’s intergalactic photography, you’ll get Keith space cigarettes, make them yourself just to be the first to make him pout.

    You still work on photography, still submit and push. You didn’t get past the third bracket before, if you win more, you can get a job and graduate early and...then what? You’ve had no luck dating, and everyone seems to be going places. Your pace is too slow for you, and you don’t think you’re going to be enough, so you turn your focus. Keith is still working odd jobs, so you think, you can help him. Definitely. It takes months for you to convince him, and you’re persistent. Because you don’t know what to do, you don’t know if you’re worth the chance yet. So all you can do is work.  

   You teach Keith proper work etiquette, and general etiquette before he creates a resume and cover letter, and make it intensive the day before the interview. Then he gets the job, two days before he turns twenty. You’re glad he has Sundays off for now, so you can celebrate. Pidge and Hunk are already halfway through college, and so are you, you guess. Keith seems happier for you than himself. You change that with a couple rounds of karaoke, even if his voice is sore by the time he gets to work the next day. 

  Of course, their engineer programming duo get paid internships, and you’re still drifting. You try to be happy for them, and that part’s easy, because your feelings are genuine. But it’s harder than you want to admit to stop feeling sorry for yourself.

  It’s near midnight, summer vacation halfway through, when you get the news. You can see the stars from your window, but it doesn’t feel like enough right now. Keith’s taking the midnight shift, so he’d be home soon. It doesn’t feel soon enough, so you’re on the floor, body outstretching, absentmindedly checking your phone when you get an email. 

 You can go through the formalities, but really, the gist is that someone wanted to hire you. You’re eighteen and a half years old and you have a photography gig. You might have jumped into Keith’s arms, and he might have had to lift you up. You say, “Spin me! Spin me!” He’s saying you’re a child but he does it anyways. It’s only then when you realize he’ll do a lot for you, and you won’t dare to take advantage of it. 

 You look at his eyes, and you think they’re a little purple in the dark, purple and gray, and his small smile feels like stars. You’re going to remember that, you know you will. Then you’re telling him you got a job. You got a gig, and you’re going to the seaside again tomorrow to get a jump on it. And next week, you’ll do more, and more, you can feel it. 

  It’s August when you first need a plane ticket. It’s in Oregon, and you’ve never been there before, but you want to travel. You want to be far enough to see Varadero, to take photographs again when you’re not fourteen and eager and afraid. 

  Keith squeezes your hand before you leave, because he can’t take you to the airport. You understand as best you can, it’s been years since you’ve entered a hospital. So you’re on a flight, and you’re not crying this time, it takes all you have to control your excitement. 

  It takes a few days before you’re back, with glowing reviews, and you think you’re going up. Towards the nebula, towards the dip in the galaxy. If you’re among them for a moment, while on the plane, while working, you’ll bring it to Keith. You start with cigarettes at an Oregon gas station, and go forward from there. You’re still in class, but eventually you’re doing online and abroad classes. You end up in Spain again, with a clearer head, and Keith asks if it’s better, as if he wasn’t the one struggling. The only answer you can give is  _ yes _ .

  Of course, there are the assholes. The ones who give you the worst reviews, it does get bad when one of them tries to break your arm. It’s a sprain, and you’re in the hospital with Keith holding your other arm. Pidge is screaming at the poor sap, in all her five feet three inches, and Hunk is figuring out how to sue him while giving pointed glares at you for being thoughtless and him for being awful. 

    But you’re back out after agonizing periods of time, and Keith watches over you every second of the way. You have to make sure he won’t take a week off just to watch over you, because he’s doing even worse at taking care of himself than usual. You’re graduating college a few weeks before a new gig, you’ve never been to Canada, not to mention Toronto. It’s going to be in the first week of December.          

  “So,” you say, “I’m going to Toronto.” You make sure to hold your cross tight before opening your palm. Keith sees it, it’s the same one he sees every time you go on a plane ride, since your first trip to Spain. He touches the center of it, gently, with the tip of his index finger. 

   “This is the third time you’ve told me,” he says. 

   “Well,” you say, “third time’s the charm. I’ll write a note before I leave.”

   “Okay,” he says, still touching your cross, “you’re going to be safe, right?” 

   “Of course,” you say, “I’m protected, yeah?” 

 He looks up from your cross to your eyes, mouth slightly open. His other hand slips from his side, thumbs against your wrist. He squeezes slightly, and you can’t help the yelp that comes out.

  “You’re going to stay safe,” he says, “just so I can record that noise you made again.”

  “Hey! What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you know the answer to the question but it doesn’t stop him from squeezing harder. You try to flick his forehead but he blocks you, only to look you directly into your eyes and pull you forward and---

   He puts your cross to his heart, and brings it back to yours, never breaking eye contact. Seeing the nebulas as his limbs, constellations scattered as veins, the way the night dips into him, the way you know he’s always been one with the stars. Before, you thought he was in his own world, but now you know he was drifting. Now you can see, now you can see the galaxy dip in his iris and the way he says  _ trust me  _ with his actions and you always will. He’s still a map now, even on his worst days, and you want something from him, something to tell you how you managed to get so lucky. You can feel your breath hitch, and you press your cross tighter into your chest. Tighter, until it nearly hurts, before the bullet comes and  _ oh shit you’re in love with Keith _ .

   “Uh,” you say, “we should both get some sleep.” Shit, shit, shit. 

   “Yeah,” he says, “you’re waking up in four hours. The question should be: why  _ aren’t  _ you asleep?”

    “Thanks for supporting me pal,” the word’s never felt stranger, “but seriously, good night Keith. I’ll stay safe.” 

    Of course, you have to write  _ hasta la later, _ as promised. But other than that, you’re too tired to deny your newly discovered feelings. And that’s fine, you think. You do have work to do, which means you can turn that part of your brain  _ off _ . You’re tired, you think, because this is all so damn unexpected but it makes a ridiculous amount of sense. Instead, you look up the weather, it’s going to be cold. Of course it is, because it’s December. But you only started panicking about your coat when you’re halfway to the hotel, only realize Keith packed the damn thing when you’re at the room.  _ God _ , you love him. 

 Love. It’s weird to say now, but it’s accurate. You think you want to get used to it. You might have texted Pidge and Hunk about it, because at this point if you do it separately, one will tell the other. Pidge sends a video message of Hunk laughing his ass off, you don’t know who to kill first. 

  You decide on Pidge when it’s Tuesday, and she has the bright idea to put you, Hunk, and Keith on skype. You want to kill her, because you and Keith don’t do any of that stuff normally, and you’re going to  _ die  _ at the thought of seeing him right now. But a minute later, work actually saves your ass. Your clients want extra hours, and who are you to deny them? You might be halfway dressed, but you’ll rush over there and not deal with it. It’ll be  _ fine _ . 

   “Shit!” is the first thing you say, you’re throwing various things together, putting a shirt on. It’s a lot, the only thing you can do is a lot when Keith’s on the screen and you just figured out you were in love with him a day ago.

 “Hey,” you lean over, halfway dressed, “clients just called me up need to do some extra work. Can we call like, I dunno, tomorrow or something?” 

 “Of course man,” Hunk says, “we’re all just at your place eating. I’ll send pics.”

 “Go get bank!” Pidge nearly yells it, and Keith stays quiet. You make sure to shout  _ bye  _ before thinking about how flushed he looks, is he eating enough? Maybe Pidge gave him too much booze, or Hunk. Hunk may or may not have done keg stands, that much is between you, Hunk, and your cell phone. 

  You’re cold when you get back, nearly pass out in your coat. You’ve barely gotten a break, and jet lag forced you to sleep before you could think. For that, you’re thankful, for the first time in your life. 

  You wake up twelve minutes before your alarm, and you take a little extra time in the hotel shower. You think you’ll show up early, that you’ll walk. You do like the exercise, makes you less jittery behind the camera. It’s Wednesday, and you get a text from Keith. It reads”  _ my brother’s coming, he called me earlier.  _ You take a selfie, maybe it’ll communicate something like love, because you’re so happy for him. You’ve never met the guy, but if he’s better, if Keith can see him, you think it’ll be a good thing.  

  You work, you sleep. It’s not the sight you want to take, even though you’re not quite sure what that is (Varadero). You check the weather there when you’re waiting for your flight Thursday morning, and it’s beautiful. You could cry, so you check the weather at home and you tell Keith you’re having a layover in New York the moment you learn of it. It’s going to be days, you don’t know what to do with yourself. He says  _ okay _ , you hope he isn’t scared. 

  You spend too much time flipping through travel magazines, seeing how tourism dissects your childhood, then your adolescence. You take some classic New York shots, become an assertive force in a deli. The subways aren’t so bad, you don’t get the confusion about them, you use them to lull yourself into a state you can’t define. Then, all you can do is take pictures of water. Just like Varadero, just like high school, and you’re there again, until it’s night. You see the stars, think of Keith. Is he asleep yet, is he happy with his brother, is he…

  You should probably figure this out, shouldn’t you? It’s snowing so damn hard you text Keith on Saturday, saying you’ll be back tomorrow. You don’t sleep much, not really, you’re wide awake when you get on the plane, and only pass out a half and hour in. You’re awake an hour before landing, and you wait, and wait, and wait. 

  Then you’re back, you don’t expect Keith to pick you up, and you have no idea what time it is. You call a taxi, and talk absentmindedly about your job and you can only think about coming back. You have no idea what you’re gonna do, but it’ll be something. Something is a start.

  You’re at the door. Rain soaked, cold as hell, but it still takes you a minute to get your keys out, open the door, figure out what you’re going to do with the information. You conclude it’s best to act normal for a bit. See how it goes. Nothing big’s gonna happen, you’ll probably just say hi and sleep and deal with it later.

   “Did you miss me?” you smile while saying it, try to be playful as you put your stuff down and lock the door. You take off your coat and your shoes, look around at the dark sky and know it’s good to be back. You walk towards it, take a risk for your heart and lean on his shoulder.

 “How was seeing your brother?” you ask. He looks serious, like he’s got his goal set, you just don’t know what he’s doing yet.

 “Good,” he says, “he said I was in love, probably because he is.”

 What the fuck. What are you going to do who’s he in love with and how are you going to deal with it you live with him. You’re going to die, aren’t you? 

  “In love, huh?” you ask, hoping it sounds somewhat normal.

 “Yeah,” he says, “he said I was in love with you, and he didn’t even have to know your name.”

 “Are you messing with me because I....” You’re quiet, because your mind’s blank. If this is a joke, or a dream, something better snap you out of it. You can feel yourself sweat, even though the rain masks it. 

 “I said I didn’t know what being in love felt like, I didn’t know because this whole time I thought it was just how things were when I was with you,” he says. His voice is quiet, the kind of gravely that usually isn’t that appealing, but it works. You can’t hold back the gasp, or whatever weird face you’re wearing right now. He loves you,  _ you.  _ You don’t know what to do, but apparently he does. He leans down to kiss your temple, and your breath hitches at his touch. He leans back, but not before you feel the warmth of his breath. You could almost see stars, and he hasn’t even kissed your  _ mouth  _ yet.

  “That was out of the blue buddy,” you sigh, even though you thought this would be more dramatic. It’s all internal, and you think: it might be weird to call Keith  _ buddy  _ after all this. 

  “I just realized and admitted I was in love with you, I think I can be quick about it,” he says. You can’t even get angry about it, that’s always been the way Keith does things, at his own pace. 

  “I’m not complaining,” you kiss him on the cheek, and Keith looks at his laptop screen to avoid your face. It’s actually pretty cute, and if you weren’t feeling so all over the place yourself, you might have made fun of it. Then you see what he has open.

  “You’re on an airline site,” you say. You don’t know what he’s doing, is this progress? Should you be happy right now, because all you feel is concern starting from your fingertips to the pit of your stomach. 

  “I am,” he says, “do you want to go to Tokyo with me?”

  “When are you thinking?” you ask. You know what it is now, and you’ll go to the moon with him if he asks. You’ll tell him that eventually though.  

  “Tomorrow?” he says, again being way too quick for action. You shake your head on your shoulder, because you have a feeling the two of you are going to need some time for yourselves. 

  “Always so hasty, aren’tcha Keith? Let’s try Tuesday instead.” You put your hand over his on the mousepad, just so he doesn’t purchase the tickets right away. Plus, you hate Tuesdays, so you can do it then, definitely.

  “Why Tuesday?” he asks, even though you’re pretty sure you told him that fact about yourself. 

  “I hate Tuesdays,” you say, “and I can schedule some shoots there if I have a day. Unless you want it to be just the two of us…” You’re waggling your eyebrows even though the thought of going further already makes you ridiculously warm.

  “I want you to meet them, my brother and his soon to be fiance. And maybe the two of us can come later,” Keith is actually blushing. You can’t believe this is happening. You want to treasure, savor this moment, but you know there will be more. You can be sure of that.

  “Let’s buy the plane tickets?” you ask, sitting up to get a better view of the site.

  “Yeah,” he says, “and let’s check the weather first.”

  You leave on a Tuesday, but it’s not for four months. You consider it a bit of a compromise, because a wedding does have to be planned. But for those months, you’d consider it’s time well spent. Hunk asks you if you’ve jumped him, because you’ve always been a bit quick for intimacy. You like being close to those you love, it’s natural for you. Most of what you and Keith do is the same, except for a  _ lot  _ more, and holding hands, and being able to say he’s your boyfriend. 

 Your whole family finds out in two days, and there’s a celebration, like you’re getting married. Keith blushes the entire time, and it’s a flush only you notice, and only you get to kiss away in little corners. You never go lower than the collarbone, because you want to be at his pace for the most part. And, well. 

  Keith knows you’re trans. You’re not ashamed of it, but with him  _ everything  _ makes you nervous, this included. You end up texting Pidge, who’s always awake at 4AM, if Keith even knows how to have sex. Pidge is very kind at that time, contrary to assumptions. You end up on the phone with her after taking a walk outside. 

  “Listen Lance,” she says, “Keith’s been in love with you before he knew what love was, as a concept. You’re literally having performance anxiety about something that hasn’t happened, because you know he loves you and you really love him. It’ll be okay, yeah?”

   “Yeah,” you say, “and it’d be better if you didn’t stop drooling over---”

   “I’m very close to throttling your ass,” Pidge says. 

   “Sure,” you laugh, “if you can  _ reach  _ it.”  

 Pidge lets out a stream of curses before any sincere reassurances, and you know she means it. And you know she’s been there, in her own way, and her own sense. You’re both going to be okay. 

  Three weeks later, Keith ends up sealing the deal when you’re talking about navel piercings. He’ll say later he couldn’t take it anymore, that you were so beautiful that just thinking about it made him want you. You can believe him, after what you both did. 

  “We should do this more often,” you say.

   “We’re dating, why wouldn’t we be?” It’s the first time Keith said you were, and also an overload of him saying you’re desireable. You might cough a lot, he might pat you back, and kiss your throat, and you know you’re at it again. You make sure to send selfies when he’s asleep.

  It goes like that, for the next two or so months. Keith’s face lights up with joy whenever he looks at his phone for a text from his brother. Hunk tries to give you a fake Talk, the you get a fake divorce, and you and Keith get fake married. Except you’d like to get real married one day, and the thought of that keeps you up way later than it should. 

   Then, on a Tuesday, you’re on your way to Tokyo. You hold Keith’s hand, make sure you’re close to him no matter what. He says you don’t have to be so protective, but his body’s stiff in the airport, and shaking on the plane. You’re with him in the bathroom when he needs to break down. 

   “Listen,” you say, “you’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay, because my God? My God’s here for you too, he’s here for us to be with your brother.”

   “I might throw up in this toilet,” he says. 

   “I’ll just have to kiss you for distraction then,” you say, and really, you’re joking when you say you want to join the mile high club. But he’s kissing you, and,  _ well _ . That’s one way. You don’t consider sex the cure all, but he’s so tired afterwards he sleeps for most of the flight, and you hold him during his nightmares. It’s the least you can do. 

    You know you’re here on surprise, a few days ago you contacted a man named Coran, who was kind enough to get you a hotel room. You meet him a few hours later, and you once again have no idea what time it is. He’s got an accent you can’t yet place and is one of the strangest people you’ve met, and you think you’ll get along with him. He’s a father figure to the bride, Allura, and he shows you what she looks like. Just like someone you’d hit on as a teenager, you think. She’s beautiful, and it’s clear Keith’s brother makes her happy. You think you like her, from the way Coran paints her. 

   “Hey,” you say, “so you know I can do makeup…” You might use Keith as your model, make him look a different kind of pretty and a thousand times as kissable. You might take advantage of that, after Coran gives you the job and you dub Keith your assistant. You have a few days, and the world is yours. 

  Keith shows you where he used to get into fistfights. You play arcade games, and you take advantage of the drinking age. He says, without words: “These are my stomping grounds. I want you to see them with me, to explore them with me. I want you to love them with me.” What else can you do but say yes? It’s only a few days until Hunk and Pidge show up, and you think you’ll have more when Keith mentions  _ next time  _ off hand. 

  “We’re getting a separate room,” Hunk says, “on a separate floor too, no offense.”

  “I can’t believe  _ that  _ is the first thing you say to me,” you sigh, grasp his shoulders for effect. Neither of you can hold back the laughter for long. Pidge is talking to Keith about cryptids, which should be a sign, of Lost Tapes, but you’re so damn happy you can’t bring yourself to care. The four of you decide to spend dinners together, and a few days doing some typical Tokyo sightseeing. The sightseeing goes out the window with Keith involved, but you let Hunk take the snapchat pictures, you use your camera every couple of times.  

  You’re both up early the day of the wedding, getting ready, bringing equipment. You make sure he doesn’t manage to take off your clothes right after you put them on. Then you’re off, Coran drives the four of you, and you talk about the bride, the groom, and what the hell you’re going to do. Hunk and Pidge have decided to help with catering and effects as a team, and you’re assisting the bride, with Keith as the assistant’s assistant. Then you’re setting up equipment, and you don’t know how much time has passed until you see the bride herself.

“Oh,” you look up and smile, “so  _ you’re  _ the lucky lady! You know you should be getting ready, this is your wedding you know.”

  She laughs, “I’m perfectly aware of that. And you are?”

  You stand up, and take a look at her. She’s beautiful brown skin, blue eyes,  and you think maybe you were siblings in another life.Or something like that. Long white hair flows down to her back, and her smile is both soft and self assured at the same time. You already admire that.

  “Hello Allura,” you say, “I’m just the wedding photographer. My assistant’s going to come and get me some more equipment, need to take some shots of the scenery, yeah?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” she says, “shouldn’t you be helping your assistant?”

   Oh, Keith is fine on his own. You know his arms better almost as well as you know your own, “Nah. He’s stronger than me, and also doesn’t know how to work a damn camera. He takes science defyingly blurry shots, it’s kind of amazing. So he does the lifting, I do the actual work.”

  “It seems like he owes you a favor, doing all that lifting,” you want to laugh at that, because you owe him so much more. But you’re not here to wax poetry about Keith, and you’d like to make conversation without freaking her out too much. 

  “No duh,” you say, “he’s my boyfriend. He already owes me on that basis for dating him.” She smiles at that, and you wonder if she’s thinking about her soon to be husband. Who she’s going to stun, definitely. That smile can probably kill a man. 

  “Anywho,” you clear your throat, “ _ you,  _ Miss Bride, have gotta go. It’s your wedding, you gotta knock your man’s socks off!”

  “Damn right I do,” she says, and the confidence comes full swing. She waves goodbye before going back, and you’re about to become the wedding stylist. It’ll be around forty minutes, and you’re almost done setting this up. All you have to do is wait for Keith to bring your stuff and rush to another room.

  “I’m here,” Keith says, in a slight jog, you take some of the things, and cock your head towards the bride’s next location. He nods in response, before walking with you, shoulder to shoulder. 

  “Are you happy right now? You ask.

  “I really am,” he says, and you believe him. You’re both shitty liars after all.

Before you know it you’re sitting beside a chair, waiting for the bride’s arrival. Her eyebrows raise the moment she realizes it’s you, but you know your lips are sealed. The only thing you’ll be telling are half truths, apparently it’s part of the appeal.

 “Who  _ are  _ you?” she asks,

You lean over her, fingers hovering over her eyelids. You’re taking out everything you use in your own regimen and more, because this is bridal makeup. Frankly, you’re nervous as hell, even though you watched a  _ lot  _ of tutorials. But you’re still smiling at her relaxed expression when you say, “I’m the wedding stylist.” She tenses up for a bit, and you almost feel like pulling a  _ shut up and trust me  _ like Keith always does. You, however, are not nearly as rude, and you actually know what you’re doing. 

 “Shit,” she says. She sounds thankful, you think. Then you see the smile, and know your hopes are on the dot. No way she can move though.

 “No you don’t,” you say, “not until I do your hair.” She nods in response, and she watches you do her hair. It reminds you of every time you drove back to your house to get your sisters ready for some event. Liza’s still the most insistent, because you can’t get her ready for church, everything else is up for grabs. Your confidence comes back after her first reaction, so you let yourself go at your own pace.

 “Where did you learn all this?” she asks, “You’re doing both photography and this. Sounds like a lot.”

 “When I was a kid,” you say, “I was used to brothers and sisters who got into fights, so I’d cover them up so they wouldn’t get into trouble. My older sisters ended up coming to me for makeup when they first realized I was good at it. And when I transitioned? Oooh that was weird for a bit, but it was all good in the end. Everyone thinks my sisters taught me, but it’s always been the other way around. I had to be the prettiest one after all.” You’re talking about Hunk’s older sisters, but they’re practically yours, and it’s all true from there.  

  “Can’t relate,” she says, “what about photography though?” You think she wants to know your name, and unfortunately, that’s still confidential information. But, you think if you tell her about photography, you might be helping yourself as well.

  “That was my actual dream,” you say, mostly focused on curling her hair, “wouldn’t let it go for the world. So I worked to get where I am now. The stylist thing is just a special favor.”

  “For who?” she asks. And well, you can’t answer that. It’s Coran, but it’s partially Keith, and Keith’s brother Shiro who you’ve never met. It’s also a little bit for yourself, to do a favor, for a little bit of joy. So you try to keep it short and sweet when you respond.

  “You’ll see,” you laugh, “now. Girl, I gotta say, you can outshine the flash  _ anytime _ .” He can’t keep a straight face, even with the eyebrow waggle you know isn’t serious. You don’t know why you feel so sure of him, you’ve only just met him today.  

  “Don’t you have something to do, I mean, other than wasting my time?” she’s smiling though, you can see that. You brush her hair back one last time and lean closer to her. It worked on rough and tumble Rose, so you can try it with a woman you just met today.

  “Trust me,” you whisper, “if you can outshine the flash, you’ll shine so bright you’ll blind your man. Now, go be beautiful, you’re gonna be  _ married  _ soon.”

  She gets up, you offer her your arm before you think and she takes it. Even though she lets go right after she stands up, you’re still a little touched. She looks at you, as if she knows she’ll see you again. You’ve been told she’s intuitive, but you’ll see what happens.

  “You better not steal my thunder,” she says, and it’s a smile with a playful edge to it. That smile disappears as she waves and walks towards Coran. Coran, who’s wearing what you assume is Altean wedding wear--and you know she’s thinking of home when she goes to him. You would be too, definitely.

 You make sure to shout a, “Couldn’t do it if I tried!” Coran gives you a thumbs up Allura fails to notice, and you think you did a half decent job.

 

    Keith comes into the room a few minutes later, smiling. He takes you hand, sits down where Allura just sat, and you can hear him breathe. You pull up a chair next to him, take out your own products, and touch yourself up.

  “What if I want to kiss you?” he asks. 

  “Well what if my pores can’t take it?” you respond. You see his shocked face in the mirror, and kiss his cheek before you speak, “Don’t worry babe, that’s what setting spray and face masks are for.”

    He spends time kissing your neck before a cue comes, fifteen minutes, and you still have work to do. But you’re efficient as hell, and already ready a few minutes before the music starts. You see it all from a distance, Allura, Shiro, all the tears and tenderness. It’s breathtaking, and you’re glad you can capture it. All you can do is try and give this moment justice, and you see Keith’s thumbs up from near the lucky groom. 

 You definitely teared up with their beautiful, sentimental vows. And saw Hunk take a picture of Pidge crying, because she did the same thing a few seconds before. She told you, years ago, that Takashi Shirogane was the only piece left from the war, and you didn’t know a damn thing until recently. They’d talk about healing, in time, but for now it’s joy and that’s what you capture.

 Keith’s the one to open the boxes. His hair’s pulled into a ponytail, a black suit and a deep red tie, matching the black and blue theme you have. He holds the rings in his open palm, and he’s smiling so brightly you’d swoon if you weren’t working. It’s small, but you know it’s something you’ll never fail to marvel, even at this distance. 

 You can feel that shine when the couple exchanges rings, the hint of hesitancy slipping away and being replaced by an incredible love. You might be jealous if you weren’t in one of those yourself. And when Allura French dips Shiro for what you think is the longest, least chaste wedding kiss you’ve seen, you have a feeling they’re going to be happy.

 You can hear Coran’s voice, and Pidge starts to play the music. You see Allura take Shiro’s hands to dance, and you’re ready to do the same thing. But you still have more photographs to take, even though you see Coran coming up from behind you.

  “You know,” he says, “I was planning to do all this myself. I’ll do my dancing with the princess, just let yourself be with brother in law over there.” You know princess is Allura, which makes a strange amount of sense. But the idea of dancing with Keith is tempting, especially when Coran snatches your spot and tells you he’ll tap you out. 

   “I’ve got someone I’m dancing with in my own mind,” he says, and you don’t ask further when he looks up at the sky. 

 You’re pulled into the first dance with Keith, and you know you wouldn’t have it any other way. Your arms around his waist, pulling him close, almost like a slow dance in high school. But then you  _ move _ . 

  “I can’t believe--” another twirl -- “you knew how to dance, and didn’t think to tell me?” You’re laughing at that, because you just tell him to follow your lead for once, and he does surprisingly well. You don’t dare outshine the stars of the show, but you know when it’s night, you’ll teach him how to dance properly. You know no one can trump him under the stars.

  It’s Pidge that tells you she can triple step better, and you take it as a challenge. Hunk and Keith pair up as well, but you’re a little too wrapped up in the competition to look around. She’s fast, but you have long legs. Then you somehow manage to spin each other in a cross, so you land with Hunk, and her with Keith. And if Keith thought  _ you  _ were tiring, he had another thing coming.

  Hunk, however, has been your partner in crime for so long, that it’s easy. You take the follow, and he does dip you again. You make sure to stick your tongue out at Keith, and get the upper hand taken from you when he kisses you. 

  “Don’t come crying to me after our divorce,” Hunk says, and you love the way he grew. You hope he doesn’t underestimate himself, because you’ll always be the kid in the tutoring center bathroom if he needs you to be. 

  After that dance, Coran taps your shoulder, and you return to the camera in time to take plenty of pictures. You can tell it’s a father daughter dance without many hints, and you know they’re in Altea right then. And you take what you can of that without stealing it away, it’s all you can do. Then, Coran gestures for you to come, and you can’t help but smile when you take Allura’s arm.

 “I’m Lance,” you say, “your husband’s brother’s boyfriend. Also the wedding photographer, I’ll be back taking more before you know it.” She seems a little surprised to hear husband, but you can tell she’s happy from the way she relaxes into a smile. 

  “Hello Lance,” she says, “I’m Allura. Thank you for convincing Keith.” She’s easy to dance with, fun when you know you can keep up with each other’s pace. 

  “Oh no,” you say, “he was the one who wanted to travel before. We actually showed up two weeks ago, getting ready and all. He’s been afraid for a long time, but see?” You cock your head towards Keith and Shiro. They’re dancing awfully, but they’re laughing like brothers should. You think about Percy,, let yourself have a little nostalgia before returning to the conversation.

 “I’ll thank him,” she says, “and thank you while I’m at it.”

 “No need, no need,” you say, “I’d move heaven and earth for him if he wanted, but I didn’t have to. He did this himself.” It’s true. You really can’t force Keith to do anything, he’s a force in his own, and if you can move a thing for him, you would. With only mild complaining and slight hesitation.

  “I feel the same way,” she says, and when you bring her to Keith, you know you’re more similar than most people would think. Then, she’s facing Keith. You hope he isn’t too awkward, because you know he wants to know her.

  “I can guide you,” you hear her say, and he nods in response. And he’s grinning by the end of it, like when Hunk makes a bad joke. He’s talking to her, and they’re both smiling and you look over at Coran. He gives you a one, and you know who you’re having your last dance with.

 He moves Allura on to Pidge, and goes towards you. He’s a bit more confident now, but you know you’re still going to lead. It’s fun this way, and he’s leaning his head into you so you make sure he stays close to you no matter what moves you’re doing. 

  “I’m glad I came,” he says, “and that you’re with me. And that you chose me, out of everyone.”

  “Me too,” you say, “I know we have to leave in a few days. But ‘m glad I can be a part of this.” You don’t know how to specify, so you don’t. You’re dancing until Coran taps you out, then you’re taking photographs of something you just discovered and a love you only want more of. 

  You let him spend time with his family, give Pidge the closure. Make sure she sends a picture to Linda. You and Hunk end up in his and Pidge’s room, and you’re so tired, but you can’t fall asleep. You can’t believe any of this is real. 

  “I can’t believe any of this is real,” he says. 

  “You literally just read my mind,” you say, “what the fuck.”

   “First it’s you and Keith,” he says, “then it’s Keith’s brother and Allura, who’s very nice. A little scary though, I think she could kill me in my sleep if I crossed her.” 

   “For once I actually agree with that judgment,” you say, “but she’s in love, too. That softens people up.”

   “Takes one to know one,” he says. 

   “So,” you ask, “how’s Shay from the environmental department?”

 Hunk narrows his eyes at you, too tired to deny or refute your statement. Instead, he sighs, long and slow, “I think I want to ask her for coffee.”

   “I think you should,” you say, “and not just because I’m your amazing, always right best friend. But taking a leap helps, and taking a chance can pull you in the right direction.”

   “That’s pretty smart,” Hunk says.

   “I’m always smart,” you say. He laughs at that, and you swat his arm. But you’re quiet after that, so quiet you don’t think you even know that you’ve fallen asleep. 

  Then you wake up, and the four of you are in a hotel room together, all fast asleep. You think about high school and homes, and know you need a trip to Cuba. With all of them, and their different cadences and their happiness. You want them to see what you saw when you were eleven, fourteen, and thinking about the dip in the galaxy and dreams. 

  A week and a half later, Keith asks you a question.

 “Do you remember when you fell in love with me?” he asks. You have no idea what to say, actually. So you respond by pulling back from the crook of his neck and giving him the best  _ what the fuck  _ look you can muster.

 “What? You can’t just... _ ask  _ that!” you turn away, as if you’re ignoring him. Your cheek still rests on his shoulder though, so he can feel your lack of conviction.

  “I don’t see why not?” God almighty, Keith is going to be the death of you.

  “Because it  _ is _ , Keith, you’re too damn much…” You turn back to him, and are about to shake your head before he kisses your cheeks. You can sink into it, sure, but you still have a question, not matter how embarrassing, to answer. You mumble a  _ hold up _ and he pulls away.

  “I’ll tell you,” you say, “I guess, if you’re so insistent. But you gotta tell me yours first, get that embarrassment out of the way, you know?”   

  “Okay,” he says, radio silence, “let me think.”

  “Why do  _ you  _ get to think when I can’t?” Wow, Keith better have good logic for this. You remember when you were actually irritated at this, and can’t imagine going back to it.

  “Well,” he sighs, “how about you think while I think? That works.” 

   Of course his logic is good, “It does…” and you both lay in silence. Then, you go back. 

   “So,” he says, after a period of time you definitely didn’t count, “it was probably right when we moved in together. And I thought, I think you’re all I’ve ever wanted, after all those years.”

   You know you look surprised, because you are, because you really didn’t think this through at all. You know he’s going to have a smug look on his face, so you kiss it away before he can think it. Before you know it you’re taking off his shirt, pulling down his sweatpants and his underwear. Because for once he chose to wear underwear when going to bed. You can’t bring yourself to dwell on it, because he’s quiet for a moment until he leans into your ear and says:   _I’m so in love with you, you know that? I mean it every time I say it and I want you to feel that when I’m with you_ _so can we start with when I’m inside you_. You feel yourself melt, just so you can be part of the universe he inhabits. So you let him roam, and let yourself wander, until you’re near breathless.

  You still have to pee though, so you sit on the toilet seat and complain even though you still let him kiss you, still lean so he can wrap his arms around you. Then you’re on top of him again, and you remember your side and ask, “I have to tell you my side, right?” 

  First you start in English, but it’s too late, so you go back to Cuba and tell him: “One day, I’m eleven and a half years old and asked about dreams.” He listens to it all, and in the end he kisses you before looking you in the eye. 

  “Do you want to go back?” he asks. 

  “I want the four of us to,” you say, “I want to show you all what I saw that day.” He insists on buying the tickets with the money he never spends, and you ask him if he’s nervous or scared and he says: “With you, I feel like I can do anything.” You feel a part of you is already soaring, and rests itself in the skies while reality drags out the process. 

  You’re all in Hunk’s van, and you’ve called your family talking about going back for a little. They can’t go with you, but they say next Christmas, you better coordinate, and you agree. You and Keith don’t join the mile high club a second time, because you wouldn’t be able to look your friends in the eye. Instead, Keith takes ZZZQuil for a bit, and you play games on the seat screens. You’re comforted by the sky in the windows, as you always are. 

  Percy’s the one that picks you up, and you almost forget it’s him because some people still call him Percival. It’s been almost ten years, his hug is so tight you think you’ll collapse. You didn’t think he’d miss you so much, but he has so much to give you, he says. So you let family meet family, and you end up on  Varadero with a different camera, almost ten years later. 

 Naturally, you take photographs. So wrapped up in it, you end up laying back on the sand, even though you know you’ll regret it later. You don’t realize Keith’s sitting next to you until you accidentally take a picture of his hand. 

  “Your family’s even big here,” Keith says. You can see his hair blend into the night sky, and you actually don’t mind the mullet as much. As if you hated is as much as you used to. 

  “Yeah,” you say, “we didn’t know how much we really missed each other until now.”

  “Same with me and Shiro,” Keith says, “so. I’m really happy you can do this, and that you took us. That you took me.”

   “I am too,” you sit up, “Because you know, I want to show you something. Look up.” He does and you know what you’re going to say, to an extent. 

  “You know, when I was a kid, I always liked to think of where nebulas met and galaxies dipped into the larger sky. I wanted to take pictures like that, that made you think of something larger. And for others, I’ll do that. But for me,” you take a breath, “I think I just need to take pictures of you.”

   “Holy shit,” Keith says, “I really want to kiss you right now. Do you even  _ know  _ how beautiful you are?” 

   “I mean,” you laugh, “I’d want to kiss me too! But…” you take his hand in yours, “I mean what I said. When I see you, I think of this, so I wanted to show you. And fourteen year old me, he doesn’t know what he’s in for.”

  He laughs at that, and then he kisses your nose. You don’t need to do anymore, not until you pull him towards the water. It’s still warm at night, summertime works like that here, and you know you have so many places to go back to. His arms are around your neck, and with wet legs, you kiss him until he knows. What he means to you, that he’s dipped into you, and there’s no way to undo it, even after the world ends. 

  You think, when you’re asked of dreams, you’ll think of this moment and sigh. 

**Author's Note:**

> FUN FACTS!
> 
> percival and lancelot are knights at the round table so?? kinda went w that
> 
> the soy milk keith has in his house is yeo's my friend's family gets it in bulk it's cheap
> 
> there isn't a defined location in this most of the time, so i based a lot of it from my hometown and experiences! and the geometry thing happened to me, except i had to do the work myself >


End file.
